


Like a Box of Chocolates

by auri_mynonys



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Anniversary, Cutesy, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Megatron and OP have been married for years and nobody knows (except this candy shop owner), candy shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auri_mynonys/pseuds/auri_mynonys
Summary: For a second, Volley is certain she’s misheard him. The first words she’s ever heard out of Optimus Prime’s own mouth can’t possibly be a pick-up line. She’s having a fever dream of some sort, maybe. Probably.But then she looks at Megatron, and knows she didn’t mishear at all. He’s speechless and blushing, opening his mouth only to snap it closed, faceplates heating so abruptly that the air around him shimmers. And why wouldn’t he be?After all, Optimus Prime just hit on him.





	Like a Box of Chocolates

**Author's Note:**

> Post-RID2015, Aligned continuity, super fluffy. I just wanted some cute old men and this scratched that itch.
> 
> Megatron buys candies for Optimus on their anniversary.

When Lord Megatron himself walks into her shop, Volley doesn’t believe her own optics. 

He’s huge and silver and heavily armored, the distinctive Decepticon sigil notably absent from his chest. He’s not accented in purple anymore, either, the joints that once glimmered with the Decepticons’ flagship color now painted gold and red. The star shape that covers his spark is outlined in gold metal, its core a flaming crimson; and his optics now shine deep amber, darting here and there as he searches for… well, whatever it is he’s looking for.

Lord Megatron has just casually wandered into a candy store. It sounds like the start of a joke. _So_ _Lord Megatron walks into a confectionery..._

Volley stares. Blinks. Pinches a wire in her elbow joint, just to make sure she’s still functional. But Megatron is still there: huge and casting a looming shadow over the racks of energon goodies she put out that morning. He has a package of sweets clutched in his clawed fingers, his gaze intent upon their label.

Maybe she’s wrong. Maybe it’s not Lord Megatron. Volley isn’t from Cybertron originally, after all. She was born on one of Cybertron’s colonies during the war - one of the few such colonies not affected by the Rust Plague. She’s never actually seen him in person, unlike many of the mechs she knows. Sure, she’s watched all the holovids of his speeches, seen all the images from the war. Visited all the big statues around Cybertron. But that doesn’t mean she’d know him on sight.

Even if this mech looks like the living personification of those statues. Like one of them took on sentience and decided to buy a treat.

Megatron lowers the box he’s looking at and picks up another one, considering it. He frowns at them both for a long moment, shifting them hand to hand, as if debating their value. His optics snap to her, then back at the candies, before he gives a resigned vent and turns to approach her, gaze locked upon her faceplate. 

_Oh slag. Oh Primus._ He’s fragging _enormous,_ even bigger than he looked standing halfway across the room.He’s at least a solid three yards taller than she is, probably more. She might stand as tall as his sternum if she stretches. And it isn’t just that he’s tall, either; he’s _broad._ Gigantic shoulders; huge barrel chest; thick legs. He’s about the deadliest hourglass shape she’s ever seen, and as he looms ever-nearer, every instinct in her demands that she get out of his way and run.

Volley grits her teeth, clenching her fists. No, absolutely not; she’s not going to let a maybe-possibly-could-be Megatron intimidate her. This shop is her dream, her _life._ She fought and scraped to get passage to Cybertron, then fought harder to earn enough shanix to purchase this space once she was here. She’s overcome so many obstacles to get this one thing; no giant former Decepticon is going to take it from her.

Megatron stops in front of the counter. He actually has to drop to one knee to make sure he’s at her level, which is - kind of precious, until his face is right there in front of her. His optics burn like the sun, guarded and wary: made more fearsome by the knife-sharp brow ridges that furrow at his forehelm. His faceplate is scarred, like he raked his own claws across it once and never bothered to have it repaired. Vector Sigma, he even has _fangs._

She gulps and waits for the inevitable demand - for shanix, for free treats, for her shop location or her life.

He holds up both boxes of candy, still wearing a serious frown. “I require a recommendation,” he says, his voice rough and sharp and throaty. “Were you to purchase one of these for a mech not overly fond of sweet things… which would you choose?”

Well, there’s no doubt in her mind now: this mech is _definitely_ Megatron. No one else on Cybertron has a vocal inflection quite like his. Every Cybertronian knows that voice.

That voice, that just… asked her for candy recommendations?

“I - um - it would depend on what flavors the mech in question likes,” she hedges, her processor racing wildly. Why would he ask her such a question? Is he playing some kind of game? Surely Megatron doesn’t just _shop_ like ordinary mechs. He must have people for that.

Volley realizes how stupid that sounds almost as soon as she thinks it. Who else would shop for Megatron? He isn’t a warlord anymore, with hosts of soldiers at his beck and call. He’s just… Megatron. A Cybertronian living somewhere in the mountains. That’s assuming the rumors of his habitation in the nearby mountain range are true - which they must be, if he’s here.

Living near the mountains suddenly seems just that little bit more dangerous.

“He seems to like things with a bit of a bite,” Megatron says. “Something bitter, or with _kick."_ He rolls his amber optics as he says the words. “Before you ask, it’s a _human_ expression. I believe he means it’s something fiery on the glossa.”

The way he says _human,_ dripping with disdain, tells Volley everything she needs to know about Megatron’s opinion of the organic race Optimus Prime loves so much. It’s just another confirmation that this mech is absolutely the Decepticon warlord himself. After all, Megatron would know about human expressions better than most mechs. 

Who is he buying candy for, though? The way he’s talking, it almost sounds like… like...

“Well, if that’s the case,” says Volley, when her vocalizer finally unclamps, “I’d actually recommend the halezite truffles. They’re only a bit sweet, flavored with a bitter mineral powder, and they have a spicy halezite center that definitely leaves a… kicky aftertaste.” She hesitates, staring into Megatron’s face and trying desperately not to flinch as his dermas quirk in amusement at her use of that word, _kicky._ “I can… um… fetch those for you if you like?”

Megatron offers her a slight incline of his massive helm, pressing one hand over his spark in thanks. It’s a classical gesture, the kind of old-world gentlemanly behavior oft-described in the romances Volley loves to read. “That would be appreciated.”

She echoes the gesture in reply, almost without thinking; it would be rude not to. Then Volley scurries off and grabs three boxes of the halezite truffles, careful not to crush them as she brings them back to him: this scarred-up old warlord with a frame built for violence and a manner built for nobility.

If he was any other mech, she would make cheerful small talk with him: ask him who he’s shopping for, if it’s a special occasion. If this spice-loving mech is his sparkmate or his sparkling. But she doesn’t dare pry into Lord-Slagging-Megatron’s business; and anyway, she can guess the answer well enough. The fond, playful irritation in his voice is the kind that old conjunxed couples always use when talking about one another. _I don’t remember reading about Megatron’s conjunx. I wonder who it is_.

When she returns to the counter, Megatron has risen to his full height. He’s looking around her shop with a curious expression, admiring the display cases full of beautiful candies, the clean white walls. “You don’t see much business here, do you?” he observes, gesturing to the otherwise empty shop. He's the only patron here at the moment, which, frankly, given who he is, is probably for the best.

Volley feels heat rush to her faceplates, hating how obvious it must be that she’s struggling. “Um. I suppose that would be fair to say,” she hedges. She holds up the boxes of truffles for him to see. “I - I didn’t know how many you’d want, so I brought - ”

“Two boxes will do,” he says. He is imperious and commanding, optics never leaving her. Despite his expression, his voice is low and even - still definitely that of Lord Megatron, but lacking the fire and fierceness of the tone he used in his speeches. It’s bizarre seeing him like this. Perfectly ordinary. Buying some sweets for someone he cares about. Vector Sigma, Megatron has a _someone_ to care about. That’s just insane.

Volley clears her vocalizer. Best not to dwell on it. He’s not making trouble, after all - he’s just buying candy. “Would you like me to wrap these for you?”

He frowns, one brow ridge arching. For a minute she thinks he’s angry, but then he tilts his helm, considering. “What will that do?”

Volley blinks, taken aback. “Um. It just… makes them extra pretty when you give them as a gift?” How exactly does one explain to a former warlord what gift wrap is, or how it works, or what it’s supposed to achieve? “It’s just a nicety, not required at all of course, ha, I would never imply - ”

“Hmm. Yes. Wrap them.” He waves her away in dismissal, like a military commander ordering an underling about. _You can take the warlord out of the war…_

Volley swallows and scurries to the table behind the counter, trying desperately not to look at him as she focuses on making the boxes look absolutely perfect. 

Her servos tremble as she works. Should she wrap them in purple? Or is that offensive? She doesn’t keep much of the Decepticon shade in her shop; mechs don’t like to be reminded of the war and the divide that it created. Maybe gold. He seems to like gold, if his new armor is anything to go by. 

She chooses a beautiful gold paper embossed with elegant geometric shapes, smoothing it over the boxes’ edges until it looks flawless. She’s not about to hand Lord Megatron himself an inferior wrapping job. She hesitates, then goes an extra step: adding red ribbon tied in an elaborate bow. It looks a little plain still, so she adds a blue ribbon and a delicate silver flower as well. Normally she charges more for a wrap job like this, but she’ll trade keeping her spark spinning for a few extra niceties.

Volley turns and cautiously setting the wrapped boxes on the counter, eyeing Megatron warily in case she needs to duck and cover. “Here. I hope the wrapping is to your satisfaction,” she says.

Megatron pauses to admire it, smiling faintly. "Interesting color scheme," he says, running sharp fingertips over the red and blue ribbon.  
  
Volley swallows. "I... I can change it if you don't like it-?"  
  
"No," Megatron says absently, still stroking the ribbon. "No, actually, it's perfect." He looks up, an expression she can't read in his faceplate. “I admit to some surprise - regarding your lack of patrons, I mean. I would have thought a candy shop would thrive here.”  
  
Oh. He wasn't letting that go, apparently. Wonderful. “Well... turns out mechs here don’t care much for colonialists," Volley says bitterly. _"_ I guess if you weren’t part of the war for Cybertron, nothing you do or say matters.” She blanches, abruptly remembering who she’s talking to. She can’t be whining about her problems to _Lord Megatron_ of all mechs! For all she knows, he agrees with the bots who choose to shun her because of where she was forged. “But I’m sure it’s just a matter of time,” she adds, too brightly. “It’s the Cybertronian dream, after all, isn’t it - _Til All Are One?_ ”

Megatron watches her intently. There's something there in the back of his optics - an old anger, an ancient pain she had never meant to touch. “Never much cared for that phrase,” he says, his voice rumbling low and rough. “It’s a rallying call for the uselessly patriotic and hopelessly naive. Those who chant it loudest don’t mean what they say; they care only for consolidating their own power while convincing the ruined masses that their cause is _just."_

Vector slagging Sigma. She’s getting lectured by the mech who might as well have invented revolution. “Wasn’t there ever anyone who actually meant it?” she asks hesitantly. “Before the war, maybe?”

Megatron’s expression softens, something tender and admiring in the curve of his cold mouth. “The only mech I ever met who truly stood for that ideal is Optimus Prime.”

Volley can’t quite believe how sweetly he lingers over Optimus’ name: tasting it as if it’s as delicious as her candies. “Oh,” she says. “I… suppose that makes sense.”

Megatron smiles, more to himself than for her benefit. “Thirty-two shanix, wasn’t it? For two wrapped boxes?”

Volley almost protests that that’s too much, more than she asks for the candies, but realizes he’s calculated in the cost of her wrapping, too. He must have read the pricing sign while he watched her work. _Huh. Lord Megatron reads retail signage. Interesting._ “I… um… yes? If that’s alright?” She flinches. She can’t believe she just asked him if her own costs were acceptable. She’s the owner, for Primus’ sake! She sets her prices. She knows they’re fair. She shouldn’t be cowering in front of a defeated warlord like this.

Megatron arches a brow ridge. “I would hardly presume to tell you what to charge in your own shop,” he says. A sly grin crosses his faceplate. “I find myself in command of very little these days - least of all the economy. The tedium is _unbelievable."_

Oh, slag. He knows that she knows. When she looks up and meets his stare, his optics are gleaming with humor. She gulps, lowers her helm, and gently hands the boxes to him, stepping away as soon as he takes hold of them. “Well,” she says, keeping her voice bright, “I certainly thank you for your patronage, Lord… um… sir. If I can do anything else…?”

He chuckles. “No, I imagine I’ve overstayed my questionable welcome already,” he says. He taps the screen for payment, enters a pin and a sum, and turns it back to her, offering her a respectful tilt of his head. “Your assistance has been invaluable. I will not forget it.” He pauses, pursing his lips, as if he’s forcing himself to do something unpleasant. “And your shop is… very nice.”

Lord Megatron just paid her a compliment. She doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or squeal. “Th-thank you, sir. Lord. Um. Thank you,” she manages.

He smiles, tucks the box behind his back, and turns aside, as if he means to go.

She hesitates, but finds herself blurting out the question before she can stop herself. “Lord Megatron - wait - !”

He paused and turns, brow ridge arched. “Yes…?”

She swallows, wishing she could just shut herself up - but this is the only chance she’ll ever have to ask something of Lord Megatron himself. “About Optimus Prime,” she says, twisting her hands in front of her. “You… almost sound like you’re commending him? Like… like you _like_ him. And I know that’s absurd, that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever said aloud, ha, but - well...”

Megatron’s brow ridges arch even higher.

“... well, do you?” she asks lamely. “Like him?”

His expression clears, and he laughs, a low rumble like distant thunder in his chest. “Of course I do.”

Volley chokes. “You - _what?!_ ”

Megatron tilts his massive helm, staring her down. His eyes are bright and curious, gleaming with something like mischief. “You seem surprised,” he says. “Yet it was you who asked. Surely you knew the answer already?”

Volley splutters. She’d expected denial, anger, maybe even a threat - not passive, humored acceptance. “I… I thought you were… I thought you were mortal enemies?”

Megatron’s mouth quirks into a peculiar half-smile. “There is more to Optimus and I than meets the eye,” he replies. “I expected everyone would know that. It's hardly a secret. I’ve always admired him, even before he was Prime. Once he was a brilliant little archivist, clever and kind and compassionate. My dearest friend.” Megatron unconsciously taps his claws to his spark chamber, staring out into nothing. “Even now, after all this time, I can think of no mech higher in my esteem.”

And _that_ \- that sounds almost romantic. But surely not? Megatron clearly has a sparkmate, and Optimus Prime is - doing whatever he’s doing now that he’s back from Earth. The connection she’s making isn’t possible. There’s absolutely no way.

“He’s always been a mech of _integrity,_ ” Megatron continues. He says _integrity_ like it’s a curse, dermas curling just a little. “I’d hate him for it if it wasn’t so terribly endearing.”

_Endearing, admire,_ and _Optimus Prime_ are three concepts that Volley never expected Megatron would link together in one vent. “He did always strike me as an honest mech in the holovids I watched,” she says carefully.

“To a fault,” Megatron replies, rolling his optics. “Earnest, solemn, and grotesquely inspirational, even when he isn’t trying. One of his most irritating qualities. Delightful sense of humor though.”

Volley has never heard _anyone_ claim that Optimus Prime is funny. But if anyone would know… “Isn’t Optimus terribly serious?” she asks.

Megatron grins, fangs catching the light. “Only if you aren’t paying attention.”

It’s almost like a stage manager has been waiting for a cue. As soon as he says the words, the door slides open, bell gently chiming; and a mech only a touch shorter than Megatron strides in, barely fitting his large shoulder span through the door frame.

“Well, well,” Megatron says, grin turning into a devilish little smirk. "Someone’s audials must have been burning.”

Volley goes completely still. It’s like a black hole has opened up inside her shop, like everything inside it is being swallowed into darkness. She takes in the looming frame, gaping up and up and up…

Right into the faceplate of _Optimus-slagging-Prime._

For a minute, Volley chokes, terrified. What happens when Lord Megatron and Optimus Prime find themselves in the same establishment? Do they start fighting? Do they trade insults before going their separate ways? Should she call someone? Volley quivers, looking between them, waiting for one of them to make a move.

Optimus frowns, staring deeply into Megatron’s face. “Odd,” he says. “I thought this was a candy shop, not a museum… yet here before me stands a most glorious work of art.”

For a second, Volley is certain she’s misheard him. The first words she’s ever heard out of Optimus Prime’s own mouth can’t possibly be a pick-up line. She’s having a fever dream of some sort, maybe. Probably.

But then she looks at Megatron, and knows she didn’t mishear at all. He’s speechless and blushing, opening his mouth only to snap it closed, faceplates heating so abruptly that the air around him shimmers. And why wouldn’t he be?

After all, _Optimus Prime just hit on him._

“I _do_ have a reputation to uphold, Prime,” Megatron finally manages, although he doesn’t look at all like he means it. “Try not to embarrass me, if you can manage that. We’re in public.”

Optimus laughs, a quiet sound that barely echoes within his huge frame. His optics crinkle, bright blue and overflowing with affection: the last expression Volley ever expected to see on his faceplate when looking at his arch-nemesis. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “Do I dare to ask what you were saying about me before I came in? Nothing complimentary, I’m sure.”

“Compliments for a Prime? Never _,_ ” Megatron replies, pressing a servo over his spark. “We were discussing your legendary sense of humor - or supposed lack of one, apparently. No one ever finds you amusing but me.”

Optimus frowns again, thoughtfully this time. “ _Humor_ … Hmm. I believe I have heard that term in passing. I find the definition escapes me.”

Volley doesn’t quite realize Optimus is joking until Megatron laughs. Optimus smiles again, deep and warm and delighted beyond measure. Her processor still hasn’t quite caught up with the context here, and she has no idea what’s actually happening - but there’s something magical about seeing Cybertron’s most famous enemies acting so friendly with one another.

Acting… very, _very_ friendly, now that she’s really thinking about it.

“You’ve had a detailing,” Optimus remarks, sweeping his gaze over Megatron’s frame. Every depiction she’s ever seen of Prime has imagined him as chaste, holy, and sexless: but nothing about his expression just now can be described as _chaste._ He’s devouring every inch of Megatron’s glorious frame, studying his new paint, appreciating the curve of his hips.

“How good of you to notice, Prime,” Megatron drawls, but he’s still blushing, doing his best to hide it behind a disinterested shrug. “I see you had the same idea.”

It’s true: Optimus is also gleaming, freshly scrubbed and painted and buffed to a sparkling polish.

Optimus smiles serenely. “I have a date.”

“Oh really.” Megatron’s voice is a low, dark purr, a predatory rumble in the very depths of his chassis. “What a fortunate mech this date of yours must be, to turn the somber helm of our most illustrious Prime!”

He’s being sarcastic. There’s no question in Volley’s mind that he’s mocking - teasing? - mocking Optimus. But Optimus is unperturbed, approaching Megatron and - and -

_Taking his hand?_

“Some might see it that way,” he says, linking his fingers through Megatron’s - familiar and sweet, as if they do this every day. “But there was a time - a time before - when a humble, naive archivist loved a brilliant gladiator more than his frame could hold. Every morning now, that archivist wakes up astonished to find his Champion is at his side, as he always hoped he would be.” He leans closer, barely a vent away from Megatron’s faceplate. “I rather think it is I who am the fortunate one.”

Megatron chokes, gripping Optimus’ servos tight in his own. “Optimus -!”

Optimus pops up a few millimeters on his pedes and just - kisses Megatron. Kisses him like no one else is in the shop. Like that’s a perfectly normal thing for him to be doing.

Volley’s processor makes a shrieking sound as every single system in her frame freezes up. She only realizes the rest of her is making the same sound aloud when Optimus breaks the kiss with a startled, dazed look, right as Megatron hisses and tries to pull him back: one huge, clawed hand falling onto Optimus’ waist.

“Mega,” Optimus murmurs in warning, glancing at Volley.

“You started it,” Megatron replies, low and petulant and irritated. He leans in and nuzzles against Optimus’ intake cabling. “I was attempting to buy you candy, you know.”

Optimus smiles despite himself. “And I was attempting to buy _you_ something for once,” he replies. “Great minds, I suppose.”

“Mm. There is one such mind between us, at any rate. It’s mine, by the by, in case you were wondering.” Megatron lifts his helm - catches sight of Volley gaping at him. His optics sparkle with something like amusement as he steps away. He takes the box out from behind his back and extends it to Optimus, bowing low, as if presenting a gift to a god.

He’s… _giving her candies to Optimus Prime._ Which means that Optimus Prime is _Megatron’s slagging sparkmate_.

“Seeing as you’ve already ruined the surprise…” Megatron grumbles, “... this is for you.”

Volley stares open-mouthed as Optimus pauses to admire the wrapping, gently plucking the silver flower from the top and tucking it behind a finial. He’s huge and bulky and unbearably cute with that little flower above his audial. He undoes the bow with care and reaches for Megatron’s wrist, looping the ribbon through his armor until it’s a pretty bracelet. Megatron sighs like he’s annoyed, but when Optimus returns to unwrapping the box he holds up his wrist and looks at his new accessory with pleasure.

Optimus sees what’s under the paper and hums in appreciation, pulling the first box open and popping one of the candies into his mouth. Volley watches as he tastes it, optics closing, a savoring smile crossing his faceplate. He looks surprised and pleased by the added spicy flavor that bursts over his glossa after he swallows. 

“Oh, these are wonderful,” he says.

Megatron glances at Volley - and _winks._ “Well, Prime, as long as you’re here and making a fool of yourself, you may as well pay your compliments to the baker in person,” he says. “I’d convey your appreciation on your behalf, but it lacks that personal touch you are always so fond of giving.”

Volley is so paralyzed with shock that she can barely even move when Optimus turns to her. He kneels and folds his two giant hands over one of her smaller ones, staring deeply into her eyes. “I thank you most sincerely for your recommendation,” he says, holding her gaze. “These are truly delicious.”

Volley nods, dazed and star-struck, mouth very dry. “Thank you. You’re welcome. Um,” she finally manages. “Sir - Lord - um. Prime.”

Optimus frowns and turns to look at Megatron over his shoulder. “You didn’t scare her, did you?”

Megatron laughs. “Not deliberately. Accidentally, though? That’s another matter.”

Optimus sighs. “I suppose that can’t be helped.” He pats Volley on the shoulder, shaking her whole frame. “Thank you again,” he says. “And I would thank you also for your discretion, if you take my meaning.”

Volley nods, wordless and gaping. “I - yes, sure, whatever you want - ”

“Thank you.” He leans in conspiratorially. “It’s our anniversary. Five millionth. Rather an impressive number, all things considered. We’re hoping to make it special.” He pulls back, pats her shoulder one last time, and rises, turning back to his conjunx. He reaches for Megatron’s hand, and Volley watches as they loop their fingers together, Optimus’ thumb stroking over Megatron’s knuckles. “Thank you, my Champion,” Optimus says, smiling up into Megatron’s faceplate. “I love them.”

“I can think of several ways for you to thank me later,” Megatron murmurs, a low, husky purr that Volley is _definitely_ not meant to be privy to. She feels her faceplates burn as she turns away, keeping her back to them.

Optimus Prime and Megatron are fragging. They’re sharing her candies, flirting, celebrating an anniversary. They’re even _conjunxed_ (or mated, or bonded, or whatever it is the older bots call it), and have been from the start. From the time before the war even began. She can hardly believe it. They’re murmuring to each other even now, fondly: Megatron a little gruff, Optimus soft and soothing. She hears the sound of enormous pedes approaching the counter, but doesn’t dare turn; hears the beeps and clicks of her payment screen in use. Hears the retreat of those same pedes, without a word spoken to her.

When she hears the chime of her door, she turns to find them gone: walking out the door hand in hand, as if they haven’t a care in the world.

Volley collapses against the counter, pressing her hand to her mouth. He was here. _Lord Megatron_ stood in her shop and bought things from her and asked her for advice on what to get as a gift for Optimus Prime, who is his _husband_. Is she hallucinating? Going out of her mind? Maybe her processor has a faulty wire. That’s possible. Maybe the stress has finally broken her.

She checks the shop’s sale log, and _nope._ There it is. _ID: D-16[ALIAS:MEGATRON]. PENDING SALE: 32SH. TIP: LOADING._ They were really there.

This is too much for Volley to take. She closes the shop for the day and goes home, buying a bottle of high grade on the way. She shouldn’t - her shop hasn’t been doing as well as she’d like, and funds are a little short - but she needs it after the day she’s had.

She almost freezes when she sees her account balance flash up on the screen as she pays. There’s… there’s no way that’s correct. She has to be losing her mind.

She checks again when she leaves the store, pulling up the log on her HUD - and gasps.

Megatron paid her the thirty-two shanix he owed… and left her a tip of _fifty-thousand shanix._

_With thanks,_ he wrote on the memo line. _For your discretion, and for finding a gift to please my spark’s light._

Holy Primus. Volley stares at the total and Megatron’s note, blinking into the dark. 

Maybe Megatron isn’t so terrible, after all.


End file.
